In the Wee Hours of the Morning
by Imitating Licentiousness
Summary: I said it was a oneshot. I lied.
1. Chapter 1

Another one-shot. Sorry they're so short, I have limited writing time. I only get two or three sentences in between classes.

Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

In the Wee Hours of the Morning

She liked to sleep on her stomach. Hm. He hadn't been expecting that. He'd always figured that she would sleep on her side or back. But now, as he lay on his side, watching her sleep, she slept on her tummy, face turned towards him, left arm curled underneath the pillow and right hand splayed lazily over his bare chest.

She was also a cover hog, and he made a mental note to tease her about it in the morning, for his own particular amusement.

Her dark hair had fallen over her face, and he reached over, smoothing it away, before his fingers strayed down the chocolate locks and to the creamy skin of her back. They traced between her shoulder blades, and slid down the curve of her spine, all the way down until back meets backside, before leisurely spider-crawling back up.

She stirred in her sleep, made a murmuring giggle. "Tickles."

He made a sound deep in his throat. "It was _meant_ to turn you on."

She opened one blue-grey eye, looking at him. "Am I dreaming?"

He let his hand fall flat on her ass, emitting a loud _smack _sound. "I don't know. Did you feel that?"

Both her eyes opened wide and she let out a gorgeous laugh, throwing her head back, all those curls tumbling through the air. "Yes, I felt that!"

"Good. Then you're not dreaming." He grinned smugly down at her.

She let out another giggle and rolled towards him, wrapping her arm further around his chest and draping a leg over him.

He grunted. "Ow."

"Oh, sorry." She winced, carefully replacing her leg in a higher spot so as not to hurt him.

'S'ok." His right arm curled around her, sliding across her shoulders to trace small, undeterminable shapes down her arm with his fingers.

She lifted her hand to feel his stubble, then reached up to bury her fingers in his hair, playing with the curls. He closed his eyes and let out a satisfied sigh.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily, yawning.

House turned his neck and picked up the alarm clock to read the glowing green letters. "Three-thirty." He tossed the clock back to its home on the nightstand.

"God, we have to be up in three hours."

He shrugged. "We'll call in sick."

"Both of us?"

"Why not?"

"People will talk."

"Who gives a shit? Besides," he said, suddenly rolling over her to pin her to the mattress. He kissed her long, deep. "I'm making up for lost time."


	2. Nighttime

One week in and he found that several of his shirts were missing. Not that he minded too much; there was something incredibly sexy about Cameron sitting on the couch or on the bed, wearing nothing but one of his T-shirts and those black boyshort panty-things she liked so much.

But, as the days rapidly went by, she was good about giving him his space—she'd spent almost every other night with him in the past three weeks, and not a single thing of hers—with the exception of a red Oral B toothbrush kept in a plastic holder next to the sink--had popped up in his apartment—no bottles of shampoo in the shower, no spare clothes, no loose jewelry, nothing.

It was nice of her, considerate, he thought, to not want to rush him.

Early in the morning, he awoke, rolled over in bed, stretching an arm out to pull her close, only to find empty Egyptian Cotton 600-count flat sheet.

"Cameron?" he mumbled groggily, pushing himself up on his right elbow to look around.

"I'm here," she whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"What are you doing?" Except, in that numbing obscurity between half-asleep and half-awake, it sounded more like, "Wutinhoodoin'?

"I have to go home and shower and get some clothes. My shift starts in a few hours."

He groaned something, and Cameron could _swear_ it was a murmur of disappointment.

"Conbehtobeh."

"What?"

He rubbed one eye and turned on the lamp to find her zipping up her boots. "Come back to bed."

"House—I don't want to wear yesterday's clothes, some kid puked near me, they'll smell--"

"We'll stop by Kohl's and pick you up some on the way to work or something. Come back to bed."

"But I want to take a shower."

"I want to take one with you." He smirked.

Cameron looked at him, crossing her arms. His hair was sticking straight up and sideways, blue eyes sleep-filled and squinting in the harshness of the lamp's light, covers tangled around his legs.

He was just too cute.

He looked at her expectantly, before waving her back with his left hand. "Come on."

She rolled her eyes. Irresistible. Cameron kicked her shoes back off and unzipped her jeans, earning a drowsy eyebrow waggle from her—dare she say it?—boyfriend. She lifted the covers, stretched back out between the sheets. He wrapped an arm securely behind her, pulling her to him to spoon, right arm around her stomach and left underneath her neck and over her shoulder. Cameron pulled the chain on the lamp, pitching them both back into darkness.

"You know," he said, running a hand through her hair, a habit he was becoming quite fond of doing, "I've been thinking."

She was already sleepy again after having crawled back in the nice, soft, warm bed. "Thinking about what?" She kissed his hand.

"Maybe I could move some stuff over in the closet, give you a little space for some clothes. Not too much, though. I'm fashionable. Need lots of room."

"Metrosexual bastard."

"Yeah, well…and maybe you could bring over some of that green-tea scented stuff you put in your hair. It smells nice."

Cameron grinned. "It's _chai_ tea."

"Whatever. Either way, you can stop having to get up in the middle of the night and leaving." His hands slid under her shirt a little, resting on her hip.

She waited a few minutes, until she was sure he was on the edge of slipping softly back into slumber. "So…are you my boyfriend?"

House cleared his rusty throat. "Well, that's such a high-school term, but…"

She elbowed him. Then, a few moments later, "Do you think they know?"

He shrugged. "Wilson knows."

She rolled over to face him. "How?"

"I don't know. He just knows those things. He said I was humming."

"Humming?"

"Yeah, humming."

Cameron thought of the night he had come in late, singing. That was when he'd been with Stacey. But now he was humming about _her_. She gave him a quick kiss, then snuggled into his side.


End file.
